


return

by xahnadu



Series: a drifter’s gambit [2]
Category: Destiny (Video Games)
Genre: Established Relationship, Other, Red String of Fate, Soulmates, guardian is gender neutral, this is just fluff with a little angst sprinkled in
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-03-31
Updated: 2019-03-31
Packaged: 2019-12-29 02:01:09
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,507
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18297998
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/xahnadu/pseuds/xahnadu
Summary: Drifter eventually broke the silence. “Hey, you got Malfeasance on you?”You pursed your lips inquisitively. “Yeah, of course I do,” you say. It was your favorite for off-world missions, but not so much the Crucible. Too many boneheads running around for you to use it properly.“Why dontcha bring it by later? I have a few Gambit matches left before we call it a day.”“Sure, I’ll be over in an hour—” you paused, ”—but why do you need to see it?”





	return

**Author's Note:**

> hey i’m back at it with another late night fic
> 
> i saw the red string of fate ornament for malfeasance today and was like “well fuck now i have to write a fic” so here we are
> 
> this has no beta so i will fix any mistakes i see ASAP

You cursed under your breath as you stared down at the Smuggler’s Word, Rahool looking at you indifferently as usual. You knew that it wasn’t necessarily Rahool’s fault that every other engram he decoded for you was the same stupid sidearm. But it did not fail to spark irritation within you— you didn’t even use sidearms. The only thing you could do with this piece of shit was dismantle it and pray to the Traveler that you score an Enhancement Core. 

Considering your luck, probably not.

“Thanks,” you say to Rahool politely. He waved you off dismissively, which only made you tighten your grip on the sidearm as you stalked away.

You move the sidearm into subspace and walk back to your quarters. You rarely returned to the tower in which the Guardians rested and socialized, as you spent most of your time out in the Wild, jumping from planet to planet, chasing down whatever new threat that appeared every other week.

It was much like an apartment complex, the ones you’d see down in the City. They weren’t roomy but at least Guardians didn’t have to bunk together; the only thing keeping the Vanguard from enforcing that particular rule was that if Titans bunked together, they’d probably bring down the entire complex when tensions got too high. Shaxx would turn it into a Crucible exercise.

Each room was furnished with a small, humble seating area, a bathroom with a standing shower, a kitchen, and a bedroom. Guardians were allowed to decorate as they pleased, but were asked not to do any permanent damage to the walls. There were definitely stories behind that one.

The door to your quarters unlocked as you approached, and as you enter, you sigh and signal for Ghost to remove your armor, leaving you in grey joggers and a tight-fitting, long-sleeved undershirt whose collar rose up to the curve of your neck.

Your place was rather simple. You had painted the walls a light blue that bordered on dull, and on the walls were pieces of art or posters you had acquired when scavenging the EDZ. On your coffee table and workbench there were scattered photos, the old kind, which had to be developed. Some were just beautiful sights that you had Ghost capture while out on the job, others were of your fireteam and friends. 

You paused at the side table by your couch and picked up one of the frames. It had multiple pictures of your friends: Cayde-6 and yourself stuffing your faces full of ramen, Suraya feeding a group of birds like a grandmother, and another of you and a Titan going at it in an arm wrestling match. The jury’s still out on that one: some pesky Kinderguardian decided to kick the barrel out from under their jousting arms on a dare or something. You huffed in amusement and put the frame down.

Ghost started playing music of his own accord— he liked playing Golden Age music, the stuff that sounded like it was played with real instruments in front of a crowd of people. 

You smiled to yourself as you sat down at your workbench, taking out Smuggler’s Word and beginning to dismantle it. His music soothed your nerves, which were fried after spending nearly three weeks from the City. It was nice to be back, at least for a few days before you were called back out again. Ana mentioned something about Rasputin moving more Warsats to Io…

Ghost emitted a small chime that startled you out of thought. Ah. Thinking about more work wasn’t the way to relax…

Your little light chimed again, and you motioned for it to answer the call.

“Hey, hotshot.”

The drawl registered in your head and you felt your lips curl up into a small smile. “Hey, Drifter.”

“Heard you’re back in town.”

“Word spreads fast around here, doesn’t it?”

“Eh. More or less. Mostly because people took note of your exit after receivin’ a certain sidearm from Rahool.”

“Was it that noticeable?”

“Yes.”

You felt your neck heat up in embarrassment. Perhaps you should apologize to the Cryptarch… No. It wouldn’t mean anything to that little blue bastard anyway.

You idly tinkered with Smuggler’s Word as there was a considerable pause in conversation.

Drifter eventually broke the silence. “Hey, you got Malfeasance on you?”

You pursed your lips inquisitively. “Yeah, of course I do,” you say. It was your favorite for off-world missions, but not so much the Crucible. Too many boneheads running around for you to use it properly. 

“Why dontcha bring it by later? I have a few Gambit matches left before we call it a day.”

“Sure, I’ll be over in an hour—” you paused,”—but why do you need to see it?”

You could practically hear the pout in his voice. “Aw, Guardian, it’s practically our child! Lemme have a visit with it. I have a surprise, I promise it’ll be worth the walk down here. Trust.”

You rolled your eyes. “Fine.”

“Heh, that’s more like it. Be seein’ ya, sugar.”

And then he was gone.

You rocked back in your chair, your work on Smuggler’s Word temporarily suspended as you pondered on the Drifter.

Your relationship with him was… unorthodox. Then again, any Lightbearer relationship was rather unusual. The two of you were as close to “committed” as two Risen could be. Most of your time in the Tower was either spent with your friends in your fireteam, in Gambit, or by the Drifter’s side. You both had feelings for the other, but collectively were playing an elusive game of chicken when it came to saying those three little words. 

The Drifter was still reluctant to completely expose his vulnerable side, and while he cared for you deeply— more than he had for anyone else in, what, centuries? —he knew you were his weakness, and with as many enemies as someone like him had, Drifter wanted to protect his Guardian fiercely. Whether it was for his own preservation or yours, he couldn’t quite tell. 

And you, despite it being years later, still harbored fears of losing him after what happened to Cayde. You had mostly come to terms with your former partner’s untimely death, but the Rogue Lightbearer could still sense the apprehension in you when you grip him in a hug before you inevitably leave again.

You both understood that the other had, for lack of a better word, baggage. And, you thought idly to yourself, that those problems were what made the both of you good for the other. A mutual understanding. And while neither of you could really voice it out loud, you showed it in other ways.

Visiting the other as soon as you both had the time, drinking together during late nights on the Derelict, laughing at each other’s low-handed jokes, going out on the occasional patrol together. 

Other times it was through holding each other in times of vulnerability. The comfort you found in each other was undeniable, and whether it was through the simplicity of just having the other’s company or more intimate, charged moments, spent in sheets that crumpled beneath the two of you as you kissed each others’ problems away, one at a time.

Ghost’s music resuming reminded you to finish dismantling that sidearm. You grimaced as you took the damned thing apart and got nothing out of it besides a few shards and some scrap that you could turn into Banshee later.

Curse you, you little blue fool.

***

After about an hour, you slipped on your shoes, summoned Malfeasance, and exited your quarters.

You smiled and greeted a few acquaintances that passed by as you entered the Bazaar. Most patrons were filtering out for the night, with the sun’s light waning and drenching the tower in cool shadows. 

When you finally reached the bottom of the Annex, you brushed by a team of two Titans, a Hunter, and a Warlock, all carrying new Prime armor of assorted colors. They greeted you and vice versa as you passed and ducked into the Drifter’s little garage. 

He was chatting with an Awoken Warlock when you first laid eyes on him. As if he sensed your arrival, he glanced over his visitor’s shoulder and locked his blue eyes on you. He tore his gaze back to the Warlock, who was still talking, and quickly dished out loot for him, practically pushing the Guardian out of the garage before shutting the door for the night.

You opened your mouth to say something, but the two of you were already in each other’s arms. He crushed you against his chest and you sucked in the scent of smoke and metal that lingered on him. Your hands roamed up his back and found the nape of his neck, where you tugged him down into a kiss.

The two of you shared this kiss every time you came back from an extended venture, but it always felt like the first. Desperate, loving. The Drifter’s gloved hands moved from your waist, to your neck, to your hair, and then back down again, hungry for your warmth. Your Light practically preened under the attention.

Eventually you pushed a hand on his chest and stared at him, panting as you caught your breath, “Missed you.”

“Likewise, sugar. Derelict’s awful cold without you there to warm my bed,” he grinned, and you huffed with a roll of your eyes.

“Yeah, yeah.” You lean forward and kiss him again, and when he tried to deepen the kiss, you pushed him off. “Ah ah, not so fast, quickdraw,” you mumble against him, pulling Malfeasance from subspace as he scoffed at your use of the nickname.

“Oh. That’s right,” the Drifter smiled. He took the hand cannon from you and admired the design in the light of the garage. He was damn proud of this thing, and so were you. 

After a moment of admiration, he looked back at you. “Oh, you’re still here?” 

“Yeah. Thought I’d find out why you wanted to see it so badly.” 

“Come back tomorrow, you’ll see.”

Your brows furrowed. “You can’t be serious— I just got here, and you’re making me leave?”

“You heard me, honey. See you tomorrow after I’m done with the day.” He winked at you, and you groaned. You at least wanted to spend some time with him.

Drifter ushered you out of the Annex and then quickly pecked you on the lips, then glanced around as if he were looking for spies, and then gave you another wink before disappearing back into his little cove.

You stood outside the door and fought the urge to yell at him through the door. One hand cannon short, you turned on your heel to start climbing up the stairs.

***

You spent most of the next day in the Crucible with a few of your mates. Lord Shaxx seemed pleased with your return: you rarely fail to impress with your combat prowess.

After the Crucible, you wash up your armor and change into a new set of casual wear. A Titan who had been particularly charmed with how you launched her across the map with your grenade launcher had invited you and some of your team to an early dinner. 

It was particularly enjoyable. Free drinks, good food, even better company. When their home wasn’t under siege, they all liked to relax together once in a while. They shared stories and told jokes, earning hearty laughs and other times moments of silence when a rather sober topic gripped the table. Then someone challenged another to a drinking contest and soon their mood picked back up again.

You grinned at the sight of a Warlock and a Hunter chugging down oversized pitchers of ale like it was the first thing they’ve drank in days. However, as the sun went down, your mind started wandering to your companion and gun down in the Annex.

As the get together wound to a close, you politely excused yourself and started down to the Annex.

When you arrived, no one was to be found in the garage, but the silence was broken by the sound of shuffling in the back of the room and then the Drifter coming around the corner. 

He approached you and grabbed your waist, hoisting you into the air for a moment before bringing you down just enough to kiss you. It was short and sweet: content, even. No trace of the desperation that had been evident the night before.

Almost as soon as he set you down you opened your mouth. Curiosity tasted bitter on your tongue.

“Alright, alright, lemme get it before you start huffin’,” he said, reaching behind him and presenting to you Malfeasance—

Only now it glimmered the deep green hue of Jade under the lights of the garage. You sucked a breath in, partly in awe, partly in a fit of emotion. 

The smooth, etched curves of Malfeasance glittered as your eyes raked down its sides, from the beautifully carved barrel to the intricate design of the twin serpents at its base. The gold plating supporting the bottom of the barrel and forming the trigger was stunning against the deep green. 

However, the most beautiful part was the stark contrast of the crimson tie around the base of the barrel. 

The Drifter has remained silent, watching you examine Malfeasance with a small, gentle smile.

“The red string of fate,” he breathed, “is the idea that two people who are destined lovers are connected to each other by a single red string. The string may stretch and tangle, but it will never break, even across space and time.”

You tear your eyes from the hand cannon to the Drifter. The meaning of this gift…. Your eyes start to mist as your chest tightens.

“Sometimes we go a long time without seein’ each other. And in the future it could be even longer,” the Drifter murmured, bringing his gloved hands to cup yours that hold Malfeasance. “And while I ain’t exactly in touch with my heritage, this little idea has always been one o’ my favorites.”

“You’re such a sap,” you mumble, trying to blink back tears.

“What was that, darlin’?”

“You’re a damn sap!”

He laughed as you lurched forward and hugged him, and he wrapped his arms around you, making sure to give you a big squeeze. You sniffled against his neck, staining the soft green fabric of his _gi_ with a few lost tears. 

“I love it,” you say to him, pulling back to cup his face and look him in the eyes.

“I thought you might like it. Worth the wait, right?” The Drifter teased you, but you muffled any more snarky comments as you leaned in and slotted your mouth against his. 

This kiss was different from the others. This one had no desperation, but wasn’t content, either. It was full of a passionate love, a mutual adoration. 

And it reflected in their eyes when their lips parted and they pressed their foreheads together.

**Author's Note:**

> there you have it folks!
> 
> comments are appreciated; hearing back really helps me want to keep writing!
> 
> if anything u can send me an ask or message on my tumblr, redocyon! :^)


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